NED// New England She/They 🌈 ✨women✨ 24; on going identity crisis Arsenal WFC, AFC Ajax, OL Lyonnes, NEDWNT Struggling through medical school, so i look at hot pretend doctors for distraction :)
My Little Sister?!: 1. Stood up, 2. Hickeys and scratches, 3. Sobs and admissions, 4. Sweat and lurkers, 5. Rumors and girls’ night, 6. Meetings and tag, 7. Periods and nightmares, 8. Milkshakes and credit cards, 9. Toothbrushes and punishment, 10. Flowers and baked goods, 11. Straps and open doors, 12. Payouts and cleaning, TBC
funny little headcanon is that i believe if victoria ever came out to her mom that shamsi would be like 'okay, that's fine. but i still don't understand why you do not want to go into surgery. all the other gay women are in surgery; do you not want to be a gay surgeon like yolanda and emery? what about your lesbian friend trinity, doesn't she want to do surgery as well? you can do better victoria'
i think i read to many angst that now i feel so smothered by love in this fic (not complaining at all), i adore them (and i'm still in an emotional rollercoaster).
hohoho yolo needs to actually do something for trin! like get your girl.
mostly performative 😭😭
🤍
I know honey hahahah. But I need the fluff myself, life’s rouuuuugh man.
Idk if Yolo will actually get Trin in the end🫣🫣 S2 yolo doesn’t deserve her, unless she changes drastically. (Grows up and confesses her feelings)
ahh arya is the cutest!! pesaram and mama 🥺 he's so sweet for asking first. and me too arya, i want to have what they have 😔 i want to swing so high as well and get my heart squeezed.
the bet!!! baran had to gone through so many rumors for us to win AND PLSS I'M AS SHOCKED AS YOLANDA 😭😭😭
i love this family so muchh! (langdon u better watch out 🤨 jkjk)
🤍
Riiiight, Arya is as much a lover boy as his mom is a lover girl🥰 They’re a lover family all round, just happy go lucky at all times.
I read that quote somewhere and KNEW I needed reader to say that to Yolanda of all people in the Pitt. Mainly cause Yolo is jealous of reader and Baran potentially fucking with Trinity. 😈😈
We hate privileged cis straight white men, but I just know that he’d stand up for his coworkers if they were harassed for being queer. Maybe mostly performatively but still
Part 12 of My Little Sister?! Series <- Part 11 — Part 13 (coming soon) ->
TW: SoftDom!Baran. Public coming out. Accidental homophobic wording. Household chores and shit. Fluff. Arya Al-Hashimi. Family.
Wordcount: 6.3K
——————
It took Cassie the rest of the day, after she walked in on you, to get over the fact that your girlfriend was her boss. But she quickly discovered that your Baran was drastically different from hers— or, well, her attending. Around you, the woman was softer, freer, and less calculated, compared to the meticulously by-the-book and precise woman she knew from work.
Now that Cassie knew about you, she and Baran had been getting more animated at work. She liked seeing glimpses of your version of the younger woman there as the merging of two worlds had led Baran to accept a bit more tomfoolery and playful jabs around the ED. The stoic attending even joined in on jokes, on rare occasions. Often, the pair drank tea or took time to get to know each other better— when the ED allowed.
In no time, rumors started flying, now linking the attending to the older third-year resident. After last week’s debacle of her linked to the Tamil fourth-year resident, and, of course, the weeks before linking her to the Filipina second-year resident.
—
Arya’s dad had graciously dropped his son off at your apartment when they returned from Los Angeles, elated to be back with you and his mom.
Arya was through the roof when you and Baran sat him down to tell him you and Mop would be moving in with them.
You’d pulled him aside moments later, out of Baran’s earshot, to ask if he wanted to help you pack stuff into moving boxes over the next week. He was excited at the prospect of doing something grown-up with you. You told him you didn't want Baran to know or help with your activities. She already works over 60 hours a week, she needs to come home and relax, not work overtime.
—
It takes Baran two days to notice, and she brings it up to you with an endearingly annoyed eye roll— books missing, half your clothes gone, items conveniently misplaced.
Arya is already fast asleep in the guest room while you’re watching some mind-numbing Tuesday-night rerun of a comedy series before bed.
“You already work so hard, Golam. And it’s something for Ari and me to do. He gets to ask questions, learn things— about me. Like we were putting away books, and he found my family’s well-loved copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, so he asked what it was about.” Baran gives you a wide-eyed look, asking to hear your Cliff’s Notes of the story.
“No, I did not go into the blatant racism of it all. Rather, I told him that it’s about a person being accused of a crime, solely because they’re ‘different’, so an easy target. And only one person has enough empathy to listen to and sit with him to try to prove his innocence, despite the verdict already having been decided. The main character, who is fully innocent in her view of the world but eager and quite unapologetic in learning how things work, is quite similar to Ari. But now he wants to read it, and I’m unsure whether you think it’s age-appropriate for him.” You trail off, uncertainty in your voice.
“Joonam, I trust you and him to make the right choices. He’s curious, who are we to tell him no? If the book turns out to be too much, then he knows he can put it aside and try again in a few years.” She pulls you in to her, her hand brushing your hair from your neck. Her lips hover over your skin. “I love you so much, Mama. You’re doing fantastic.”
You lean into her touch as her lips finally brush your skin. “Okay, Baranam. I just don’t want to overstep— ever.” “You can’t, trust me.” “Okay then. Asheghetam.” You mumble as you pull her face to yours, connecting your lips in a sweet kiss.
—
Thus, on Wednesday around noon, you got a text, as you and Arya were packing things into boxes at your apartment.
Shirinam, do you happen to know why I am hearing people suggest that I am dating your sister?
After your meddling started the previous rumors, it would make sense to look at you first.
Are you and Ari making good progress?
Hi my pretty, wonderful, loving girlfriend :)
Bun and i are doing fine
I could use a motivational kiss tho :/
But i may or may not have made Trin ‘tell’ Vic that she saw you and Cassie out last weekend…
And why exactly would you do that?
The goal was to be overheard by the Pitts chismosas
Great success :3333
Okay, and relevance?
Well im trying to make as much money off the back of your coworkers as I can with their bet on ‘us’
Baby, we don’t need their money, or any money for that matter.
Yeah but iff anyone is going to make money off of us id rather it be us
And ive got GREAT plans with my earnings
Trust me
I do, but your track record isn’t amazing, Dear.
🖕 go back to work and bother my sister
xxx 😙
Sure. 😒
Love you too! 🥰
You chuckle at yourself, pocketing your phone. “Ari, how are we looking on bringing the boxes to the elevator?” You walk through your apartment, finding a decorative apple box. “All set, Hamsar.” Arya calls out, walking into the apartment. He had put the skateboard by the coats, which he’s been using to easily move the heavy boxes without your help.
“Good job, Bun. Okay, go piss, girl. We’re headed home, but we’ll stop wherever you want to pick up lunch— I won’t tell Maman if you won’t.” You wink at him as he barrels past you to the bathroom. He stops in the bathroom doorway, his gaze questioning as he looks at the apple box in your hands. “We really need to steal the booster seat from B’s car. Or we can stuff you full of fast food so you reach the weight requirement.” You mostly jest, wanting to keep the boy safe but not interested in getting a booster seat for Ruth if he won’t need it in a few months.
——
As you enter Baran’s— well, yours now too— house, one moving box under your arm, Arya rushes past you. The overflowing bag of Taco Bell clutched in his arms, you had let him order practically everything on the menu… His parents only feed him non-fast food (Mexican), so let the kid enjoy some food colorants and highly processed food— on occasion.
You tell Arya to grab plates as you quickly run upstairs to strip the sheets and wash the duvet, wanting to do little thoughtful things for your partner now that you’re closer to fully moving in with her. You intend to let the duvet air dry in the garden before going back to your apartment in a few hours.
—
The drying rack with the duvet was moved from the garden to the laundry room, with Arya’s help. You’e preparing to leave, having shelved some books— for Arya— in the living room and his bedroom. He immediately took To Kill a Mockingbird off the shelf in his room, wanting to take it with him.
—
In the car, Arya neatly sits on his apple box as you look at him in the rearview. “So, Baby, what was your favorite thing?” You ask, as the boy merrily smirks back. “Baja Blast Freeze!!” He excitedly screeches back, clearly a bit sugared up.
“Good choice, Buddy. But the Blue Raspberry was good too, right? And when the winter drinks return, we’ll go get a Wild Strawberry Freeze: that's my favorite. Also cause they're only a dollar most of the time, plus tax, of course.” You roll your eyes at your statement, but Arya laughs at it nonetheless, always annoyed when he tries to buy things with his allowance, only to then come up short because of taxes.
“Deal!” He chimes back, you see him fidget on his apple box. He softly says your name, “Do you mind me calling you Hamsar? Or just your name?” His eyes are trained on the headrest of your seat, avoiding your gaze in the rearview.
You contemplate pulling over but instead comfortingly grab his shin, just within your reach. Now, eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, and one on the boy, you speak slowly and clearly. “Of course I don't, Ari. You can call me whatever you want, and if I don't like it, then we will talk about it. Hell, you could call me Poopy: I won't love it, but if you feel better that way, I'll learn to live with it, Baby. Why the sudden interest?”
His hands reach for yours on his shin. You glance up to see his eyes already trained on yours in the mirror. “I heard Maman call you Mama last night after you put me to bed. And I thought maybe you like that more.” He admits with a small smile.
You shake your head softly with a chuckle. “She has started doing that, yeah. But it's okay if you don't want to do that, Sweetie. Whatever you feel comfortable with, I won't ever make you call me something you don't want to.” You rub his leg, trying to convey comfort.
“But you like being called Mama, otherwise Maman wouldn’t call you that?” He states more than he questions, yet the tone makes his intention clear. “Yeah, I think it’s cute. Baran has mostly called me that because of how we’ve taken to each other— like I’m your mom too. But again, that’s between me and B, none of your worries.”
The boy nods hesitantly, trying to work out what he wants exactly. “But if I said it, it’d be okay?” He whispers, his feet still happily kicking beneath your touch.
“It would be more than okay, Aziz. It would make me super happy, but you saying hi to me before you do your mom makes me even happier.” You grin at him as you both cackle at the memory of Baran’s kicked-puppy frown.
Pulling into your apartment complex garage, Ruth grinds to a halt. You turn back to Arya, who had quietly started to read his book. Occasionally he’d ask for the meaning of words, or the pronunciation— it was a fun game while you couldn’t read the words.
“I’ll get your mom to let us go to Taco Bell soon; my body craves the processed food. She’s had me eating too healthy— I used to eat vegan nuggets and vegetable soup multiple times a week. Now, I’ve had it once in over a month and a half.”
You dramatically lean over the center console, closer to the boy, unbuckling your seat belt. “Your mom is crimping my culinary style, Buddy. I need my cheese, beef, and beans from a mysterious bag.” He laughs at your antics as he tries to unbuckle his seatbelt. “It was yummy, in a bad way.” He agrees, you point a finger at him, “I love you, kid, don’t ever change.” You say, unbuckling the boy.
A loud thunk against your window pulls you from him. “What the fuck!” You exclaim to yourself, as your heart is in your throat. Turning to the window, you find your girlfriend’s face pressed against it.
You get out of the car, Baran of course moving aside. You help Arya out, leaving the apple box— it was quite the success. “Baby, what do you think Ruth would say to Baranam?” You ask, holding his hand as you playfully glare at the woman. “Maman needs to say sorry to Ruth. And to us; she hurt Ruth and scared us.” You low-five him before grabbing his hand again. “Yeah, Maman, you scared us.”
You smirk as Baran can’t help but chuckle at you and her boy; two peas in a pod. “Well, then I won’t say hi to my loving family. If they can’t even take a joke.” Baran threatens, which causes Arya to run over to her— telling her it was just a joke. You join the hug, giving her a small kiss on the cheek.
“You’re home early, Pretty Girl. Pesaram and I haven’t thought of dinner yet. Maybe we could order pizza?” Arya immediately cheers, happy at the prospect. Baran whispers something about being tired and being annoyed by the rumor mill, so Dana had let her tap out earlier. She relents in agreeing on the pizza.
You usher them into the building: “Let’s go home. To the apartment, while it’s still ours.” Your hand is on the small of her back and on his shoulder.
——
Another week of moving went by, and you hadn’t had time to go past the Pitt, with how busy you were and Arya being by your side. Today, however, Baran left for work— too early, as always— and Arya was picked up for a playdate. So, with your apartment practically empty, only furniture and essentials left, you thought it was high time to go bother your local emergency department. But first, you needed to get supplies.
You stroll past Giant Eagle to pick up a sheet cake. Not having ordered ahead, you’re limited to the pre-made options— especially if it’s to feed over 30 people: a yellow cake, with buttercream and a pink-green floral design along the border, and a chocolate one following the same design. You have the baker pipe a message on the cakes.
Lugging the cakes, they’re heavier than you anticipated having to carry for two miles. You make it to the ED. Lupe waves you through before you even say hi, you pant back that you’ll bring her a slice in a bit.
You make a beeline to the break room, putting the cakes on display with paper plates and forks. You head to the cafeteria to grab a knife— conveniently, all knives are missing from the staff lounge.
—
Baran enters the doctors’ lounge, in dire need of more tea. Robby showed up today— he didn’t make his three-month trip. A month and a half was still decent, he showed up because he was bored out of his mind.
The interim chief attending finds nearly all her staff standing around the table. She glances at what they’re focused on: two cakes that both read ’Surprise! I’m dating your boss🤍’. Baran can’t help but groan; someone was being funny, or at least poorly trying to be. “Okay. Who’s the joker that did this?” She asks, to no one in particular, appalled by the words on the cake.
You return, knives in hand, standing in the doorway. “Me.” You say, looking cutely and batting your eyes. “Who? Gloria?” Robby thinks out loud. You’re stunned by his question, actually more by him being there. “Yes, Doctor Robinavitch. I’m dating your what? 60-year-old Chief of Hospital or whatever. A woman I’ve never met and undoubtedly hates my guts.” You retort, with an unamused look on your face.
“No, fuckwit. She’s dating Baran.” Dana calls, giving Robby an unserious smack to the back of the head. You can’t hold back the chuckle wanting to escape you. You mouth a silent “Surprise, Golam.” to your girlfriend.
Princess and Perlah exchange words in Tagalog, before Perlah steps out and calls Ahmad over with your unread wager and the total money put in. “You sneaky little fu—“ “Hey! Not in my ED and not to my girlfriend.” Baran cuts Princess off as she was certainly about to call you something she did not approve of.
“So, Ahmad, I’ll be taking my winnings of how much?” You tease out as he hands over the earnings. “2,710$” He says dejectedly, really hoping he would win this time. You let out a soft ‘damn’ at the amount. “But we don’t even know what she bet on?” Nurse Jesse joins in, hoping to catch you slipping.
You smirk, giving him a side eye as you take Baran’s hand in yours. Ahmad reads your wager out loud, “‘Doctor Al-Hashimi is dating non-doctor McKay. It’ll be revealed dramatically.’ Well shit.” You flick your hair, all eyes focused on you.
“As I was saying, I’d like to spend these 2,710 dollars of yours on you all. I’d like to pay for a Pittcrew barbecue the last weekend of August. Our place is kind of a mess from moving my things in. So I’ll cover all expenses, but we can’t have any of the hassle.” You offer, unaware of even admitting you were moving in together.
You get a couple of cheers. “I’ll do it, Benji was looking for an excuse to grill up a storm. This way he can, and it won’t cost a dime.” Dana suggests, you nod your head excitedly at her.
As the excitement winds down, everyone grabs a slice of cake and moves to get back to work, and you hear Doctor Langdon whispering to Doctor Santos. “Wait, Doctor Al is a lez?” Trinity laughs, unsure of what to do. You roll your eyes, and Baran turns in on herself, causing you to rub her back.
“Want to rephrase that, Frank?” You say, your voice cutting like a scalpel. He looks up like a deer in headlights. You decide to play with the suddenly more anxious man. He stutters, finding his words. “I— uh— sorry— yes. I just wouldn’t have assumed.” He stammers out, his eyes apologetic as they flit between yours, Baran’s, and Trinity’s.
You circle the man like bait. “You know that if you assume, you make an ass out of you and me. But do you have an issue if I am a lesbian?” Baran simply questions. He shakes his head violently. “No, no, of course not. Love is love, and I’m practically the only straight one in this ED.” He nearly trembles.
You make eye contact with Trinity, and she nods at you. “Glad we got that all cleared up. And I can confirm there’s barely a handful of you straighties.” You chirp before Trinity slides up beside him. “No harm, no foul, but try to avoid the term ‘lez,’ especially as a straight cis white man; it doesn’t come across right.” She barks out a laugh as Frank finally snaps out of his fear.
You and Baran are left alone in the break room as Trinity bullies Frank while they return to the chaos of the ED. You brush the ends of Baran’s hair with your fingers. Her eyes close automatically at the tender touch. “Sorry for the drama of all that, but I needed to ensure I won the jackpot.” You whisper, stepping closer against her.
“So that’s why you had your friends make all those rumors the last few weeks?” Baran asks, trying to solve the puzzle of what your goal was. “Yes, Eshgham. I thought a casual Barbecue would be nicer than the formal PTMC hosts at the end of the year. This will allow Ari to play with Harrison, Tanner, and Penny. And your staff to see a more casual side of you.”
Baran hums in question as your fingers play with the hem of her scrubs. You lean in for a short, sweet kiss. “Baby, you’re a little stiff at work. Which is totally fine, but your coworkers should know that there’s a beautiful, loving person behind that stoic work ethic.” You rub the underside of her jaw, tenderly.
“Doctor, I need you for incoming trauma.” Dana calls from the opening of the door, peering inside and waiting a beat to see the loving moment.
You follow Baran out, a few steps behind her. The Persian looks at you. “Bring the knife back to the cafeteria; we’ve had too many incidents lately…” She orders as she shoots off to the ambulance bay.
“Damn, McMini. You let her boss you around like that? You’re a guest.” Doctor Garcia barks out, having come down for the trauma, waiting for them to come back with the patient.
You raise an eyebrow at her. “I don’t bite the hand that fingers me, or whatever the saying is.” You wink at Yolanda as her eyes widen at your joke. You turn to do as your partner asked.
What you don’t see is Baran and Robby reacting to your words. Baran suppresses a threatening laugh, she should have expected something like that from you. Robby just flat-out chuckles as you’ve effortlessly put Yolanda in her place.
Despite the strained relationship between the two attending physicians, Robby can’t help but say something. “You’ve got a good one there. Not afraid to speak her truth, no matter who she’s up against. Be it a surgeon, a senior resident, or even me.” He chuckles, admitting that you once threatened to push him off the roof after he unjustly yelled at your sister.
“Trust me, I know. I knew from the moment I saw her with my our son.” She confesses softly, laughing at his recollection of your actions around the department. She actively chooses the plural possessive noun, as the singular felt wrong on her lips: you and Arya are mother and son, whether you’ve accepted it or not.
——
Your apartment was practically empty, only your bed was still there. You had agreed to sell most of your furniture to your landlord after your sister and friends had a go at it. They’d all come to pick it up this weekend, last night having been the last night at your apartment.
Cassie— Harrison, really— picked the bed from your spare room. Samira had wanted a side table that they’d always adored. Trinity and Dennis chose your closet— which wasn’t even a possibility in your mind. And Victoria needed all your drink glasses— Baran had beautiful crystal glasses, your Costco-ware couldn’t match up.
You had a small meltdown a few nights ago, noticing that there was no space for your cherished furniture: namely a dresser you and Cassie found and fixed it during the pandemic, and your headboard, which you just loved. Baran had offhandedly told you that the furniture could go to one of the unused extra rooms on the third floor.
You’d been baffled, since you thought that it was mostly an attic up there— having never been up, as you had no business there. However, it turned out to be a whole floor, like the second floor, just more bare. As if Baran had moved in and simply decided not to go there.
When you asked her why she had bought a house that was too big, she simply shrugged. “I liked the tree in the garden; it’s a good neighborhood, good school district, and in case my parents or siblings ever apologize and want to come by.” You frowned at her words, saddened by her family’s distance.
“Well, Darling, now we get to fill the rooms with friends and a family of our own.” You cheered her up, pulling her close to you.
——
Baran had had a couple of long days. Robby’s return, despite her still being the highest-ranking doctor for the time being, had been grating on her. She’d been at work for the past six days, doing overtime every night. She’d barely spent time with Arya and you. Arya was getting ready for bed by the time she made it home. And she herself would crash, merely an hour after coming home.
So, to take care of the drained woman, you and Arya decide to get all the chores you can think of done, even the niche ones: deep cleaning the house. Also, since you hadn’t stayed in the house for a while.
You make your bed as well as Arya’s, as he cleans the baseboards of the whole house. When he starts dusting, even the high shelves, you vacuum following him closely behind. Together, you mop all the floors, wipe down walls covered in darkening handprints, and clean the railings and door handles.
Arya sets out to mow the front lawn and backyard— you had been clear with the instructions on the hand push mower, you’d seen it in the garage, you had made him promise not to fuck around, telling him he’d get a popsicle if he came out unscathed. In the meantime, you clean the bathrooms and kitchen, working your way through every inch of the spaces.
As you’ve both finished up, you’re sitting back on the patio. Both of you are enjoying whatever healthy popsicle you found in the freezer. “The garden looks great, Bubba.” You praise him, ruffling his hair. He gives you a toothy grin, and you notice a lateral upper incisor is missing. “Baby, did your wobbly tooth fall out?” You ask, tilting his chin to look at it more closely.
He bashfully nods at you. “Why did you not tell me, Pesar?” You ask, hurt and scared about why he kept this silent. He pulls the baby tooth out of his pocket, showing it to you. “‘Cause I wanted a popsicle.” He smirks, sucking on his popsicle.
“Ari, you know that I meant hurting yourself with the lawnmower. Your tooth falling out is just you getting bigger. And you'd get a popsicle anyway, Baby— especially if you got your finger in the blades.” You tell the boy with a laugh. He understands that the popsicle was inevitable, be it a treat for a job well done or a distraction from a digit lost.
He pockets his tooth. “Tonight the tooth fairy comes, and I'll get twenty dollars!!” He exclaims happily. “Twenty? Damn, is your tooth fairy that rich? I only got one dollar for my teeth, and five for my second molars.” You say in disbelief.
He shakes his head at your disbelief. “No, Maman doesn't have cash. She only has big bills.” He laughs, admitting he knows his mom gives him the money. “Well, little rascal, I can give you five tonight. How about that?” You challenge. His smile brightens.
He wraps his arms around your waist, as best he can. “Thank you, Hamsar. It'll be my first gift from you.” He smiles at you. “Aw, Bubby. Money isn't a gift. A gift is what you are and have been since I met you: the cutest, sweetest thing. My little boy.” You pull him into your embrace, kissing his head.
—
After your ice cream moment, you make dinner together, trying your hand at Baran’s favorite dish: Khoresh Bademjan, an eggplant stew— meat substituted with chickpeas— and Persian rice.
As dinner is done but Baran is still nowhere to be seen, you send Arya up to shower and put his PJs on.
As Arya is fresh out of the shower, Baran texts you at 8.12 PM:
I'm underway, Aziz!
All good babe✨
After the text, you draw a bath for Baran, throwing in bath salts and a nice-smelling soap you’d found on the back of a shelf while cleaning your apartment. You remind yourself to turn the faucet off as you get Arya dressed.
You and the boy sit at the dinner table, the stew and rice covered between you as you're idly chatting, waiting for the doctor to come home. Arya is dressed in a multicolored dinosaur pajama set, hair still moist from his shower, smelling of his strawberry shampoo.
As you hear Baran pull up, you hurry to the front door. You take her bag as she enters the house. “Hi, Baranam. How was work, Honey?” You ask, leaning in to kiss her. “Hi, Love. It was long and tiring. I'm starving; I haven't eaten since 1 PM.” She pouts, you take her hand, kissing it as you pull her to the dining room.
“Hi, Baby.” Baran says, placing a kiss on her son’s head. In her comfy post-work clothes, she plops down at the table. Uncovering the pot and pan she’s perplexed at what you’ve done for her. You smile and tell her she deserves something nice after the long week.
—
After dinner, you rub Baran’s shoulders. “There's a bath waiting for you, Golam. Go soak. Pesaram and I will clean up, and then I'll put him to bed.” You murmur, kissing her temple. She looks up at you with dazed eyes, golden glimmers of love and sleep deprivation in her gaze.
“You’re too good to me, Joonam. Taking care of me when I’ve barely been able to give you attention.” She whispers apologetically. “No, no, no, B. I do it out of love, for both of you. Now up you go.” You deny her praise, pulling her out of her seat.
You watch her leave, unable to help the heart-eyes at her tired, retreating form. You turn back to the table— to Arya. He brightly smiles up at you. “I hope to one day have what you and Maman have.” You can’t help the content sigh you let out at that.
You crouch to his height, stabilizing you both by grabbing his shoulders. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t want you ending with anything but the best. Whoever they’ll be, if they make you feel like your mom does me, then they’ll be perfect.” He slips his arms under yours, bringing you in for a hug, but simultaneously making you lose your balance.
You fall onto your back, pulling Arya with you. You both giggle at the clumsiness of the moment. “I just hope that you’ll find them while you’re younger than we were. So your happily ever after comes quicker.” You softly admit, trying to right yourself and the boy.
As you’re scrubbing the dishes, Arya puts the plates, cutlery, and cups in the dishwasher— he had promised he knew how his mom wanted it done. He turns to you pensively. “How do you know Maman is— is the best for you?” He speaks slowly, unsure of how to phrase his words.
You give up scrubbing the rice pot. It’ll just have to soak for the night— you have to remember to tell Baran not to touch it before you wake up tomorrow. You help the young kid shove the rest of the dishware into the machine.
“Well, you know where your heart is, right?” You start, he points to the left side of his chest, and you nod. “And do you know what shape your heart has?” You go on, he holds out his tiny fist.
You wrap one hand around his fist. “Well, your heart squeezes, right? But then your mom makes something extra squeeze my heart when I sense her.” He nods at your rhetorical question, and you can’t help but smile at the earnestness of it. You show what you mean by squeezing your hand softly around his fist.
“And when she smiles or laughs at anyone or touches me, I get this warm, fluttery feeling in my tummy. You know that feeling when you’re on a swing and you’re at the highest point, just before going down? That’s the feeling she gives me.” You explain as you finish filling the dishwasher.
—
In Arya’s bathroom, or, well, the second bathroom of three on the second floor, he is brushing his teeth. The smell of children’s berry-flavored toothpaste surrounds you, as Arya brushes his teeth like a maniac. The foamy paste starts to drip from the corners of his mouth.
You tell him to cut it out, to which he replies with an open-mouthed ‘Chi?’ causing more to make its way down his chin. He smirks as you grumble, a smile forming on your face. “Okay, Champ, time to spit so we can say goodnight to Maman and start reading.” You motion toward the sink, asking him to clean himself.
You lead Arya out of the bathroom and head to yours, since he needs to say goodnight after all. You softly knock on the half-open bathroom door. “Hi, Darling. Someone wanted to stop by for a kiss.” You say, ducking your head into the steamy bathroom. “And I wanted to say goodnight.” Arya calls from behind you, and you blush as the boy tattles on you.
Baran tells you to come in. “You know you don’t have to knock, right? This is your house too, Golam.” Baran laughs as you and Arya shuffle in.
You hang back by the sink as Arya goes to kiss his mom goodnight. “See, liar. I’m not the only one wanting to kiss your mom.” You laugh, pushing your hair from your face.
You move to kiss Baran's forehead, and she closes her eyes and hums softly. You can’t help but caress her cheek. “Sit tight, Baby. We’ll do some reading, and if you haven't gotten all pruney by the time I'm done, I'll join you.” You splash the water before booping her nose, making her smile.
“Okay, Rascal, let's get you in bed. I think we're due for a new book together.” You say, ushering Arya out of the bathroom.
—
Arya gets in bed, kicking his feet to try to to warm the sheets, to spite the ever-running air conditioning.
“Angel, what book do you want? We've got; Peter Pan, The Chronicles of Narnia, or Alice in Wonderland. I think the others are for you on your own.” You read the titles in the oder to be read first.
Your fingers brush along the familiar spines of some of your favorite children’s books— that Arya is due to read alone or with assistance: Pippi Longstocking, Geronimo and Thea Stilton, Junie B. Jones, Charlotte’s Web, Nancy Drew. And some newer books, some of which he’s getting into through Harrison: Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Dork Diaries, and The Sisters Grimm.
He picks Peter Pan and invitingly pats the bed beside him. You sit, inviting him to rest his head against your chest, so he can try to read along. You know the book is above his level, but that doesn't mean he can't look at the words.
You don’t make it to the third page before Arya softly snores against you. You close the book, placing it on the carpeted ground beside the bed. You sit for a short while, wanting to ensure the boy is fully asleep. You carefully lift him off you and move him to lie comfortably.
You give him a quick kiss on his cheek, mumbling a low goodnight. “Sleep tight, my Sweet Boy.” You turn on his night light, an LED dinosaur that changes color with temperature— telling you if it’s the right temperature for a child to sleep, and switch off the reading light beside his bed.
Mop gives you a low chirp from the foot of the boy’s bed, having settled in while you were reading. That reminds you, as you pull a slightly crumpled-up $5 bill from your pocket to place under the Persian boy’s pillow.
——
You catch Baran getting out of the tub as you walk in. “Hi, Azizam.” Baran lilts sleepily, you rub her arm comfortingly. “Hey, Beautiful.” You murmur back. “I'll quickly dip in and out to wash the day’s grime off.” You shrug your clothes off, hopping in the tub.
Knowing that Baran always showers at work before heading home and you’ll be cuddled up in one bed, her bath doesn’t strike you as filthy. In the bath, you wash your face and do a quick PTA: pits, tits, and ass. You get out not a minute later, letting the bath drain.
Wrapped in a towel beside Baran, you do your nightly routines in silence, only really making noise when you pass creams and other things.
You lean over and press a kiss to Baran’s bare shoulder, towel still wrapped around her middle, like yours. You hum in question, looking at her, wanting to break the silence.
She gives you a soft look, slowly blinking her eyes shut, giving you a barely visible shake of her head. You take this as her sign that she's still processing through her day. You give her an understanding nod in return.
Hanging your and Baran’s towels on the towel bar in the bathroom, you take Baran’s hand and lead her to bed. She wants to go toward the dresser, but you shake your head, hesitant to break the quiet. “No, I think you need some skin-to-skin time tonight, Baranam.” You whisper, loosely wrapping your arms around her before pushing her onto the bed.
In bed, Baran settles on your chest, your hand carding through her hair and along her arm wrapped around you. “Tacos are tasty.” You breathe into her hair, verbalizing your emotional safeword to force her out of her silence.
Baran pulls back slightly, her tired eyes meeting yours. “I just want to know that you're okay, Love. Or if it’s just too loud in that big, beautiful brain of yours, Eshgh.” You admit, checking in, not wanting her to spiral alone. You cup her jaw, running your thumb along her cheek, giving her a simple yet genuine comfort.
Hoarsely, she tells you of a trauma that went sideways. A little girl of Arya’s age— it hit too close to home. She lays her head back on your chest, gripping you tighter.
Your hands continue touching her as before. You whisper words of validation to her worries, then you do your best to console and reassure her.
As your words cease, she asks you to tell her about your day. You tell her of all the things you and Arya discovered about the house while cleaning. You recount how Arya had covered up an injury to get a treat.
“I have 20 bucks in my wallet downstairs. Would you give it to him once I’m asleep?” The Persian softly grumbles in response to you sharing that her son lost a tooth.
You simply tell her to hush and that you’ve already taken care of it. Drowsily, she presses a kiss on your sternum. “Asheghetam, My Dear.” She mumbles, with her lips brushing your skin as she nuzzles in deeper.
“Doostet daram, Deldaram.” You whisper back, making her let out a passive, contented sigh as you start to drift off yourself.
——————
Part 12 of My Little Sister?! Series <- Part 11 — Part 13 (coming soon) ->
Author’s note
I’m watching Class of ‘09, pls can someone explain why Ms. Moafi loves to play either sapphic or AI-expert characters, or preferably both 😭😭. Also, they really do her dirty in the future, girl ain’t gonna be near that gray in 2034. However, the money pieces grew on me, over the course of the show— the bad wigs, did not…
Needed to have the Baran finding the dummy scene in this story, something about it is so hot to me.
Like, reblog, comment, interact, all that good shit 💕
i want to scream at you so bad right now like high pitched screaming! what the fuckkk was that oh myyy. i read a lot of smut before but i swear there's something here that makes me feel so giddyyy and embarrassed 🫣 (goshh what is wrong with me)
then i get all sappy because of family talk, SO CUTE. i like the breeding kink..
AND CASSIE!! i really don't expect her to show up in this chapter omg 😭😭😭 poor cass. THROUPLE now i'm curious what yolanda think if she heard them. i loveee them, now they're all a big happy family! alsoo baran still feel bad about the pain and talk abt it with cass and she comfort baran 😭 my heartt i'm so emotional right now. 🤍
mind you i keep getting disturb while reading this bc i haven't eaten lunch, while me dying over here from the heat of the smut
🥰
all for the love of the game baby. Ieeeeeeeek, love that i made you feel giddy and shit, with a fictional character :))))))
baran likes the breeding kink too who said that??
So this is what made me start this, i knew cassie had to find out flip out while walking in on them fucking!!!
Part 11 of My Little Sister?! Series <- Part 10 — Part 12 ->
TW: SoftDom!Baran Smut-> Sub!Baran? Strap-on(r!receiving). (Talks of)Breeding. Sexual talk of pregnancy. Strapwarming. Minor spanking. Oral play. Minor choking. Non-sexual Mama. Voyerism/non-consensual viewing. Angry Cassie!
Wordcount: 6.1K
——————
Saturday morning you wake up to Baran peppering little kisses across your chest. Her body settled between your legs, her abdomen pressing warmly into your hips. “Hi, Khoshgel.” You say groggily, before clearing your throat to clear the sleep from your voice. “Good morning, Eshgham.” She whispers against the side of your breast.
You kiss the pad of your thumb and press it to her lips— she’s too far down to reach your mouth. Her plump lips press against your thumb, returning the kiss with a soft, wet sound. Her right hand tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, then her fingers caress down your jaw, past your chin, and linger on the golden necklace she gifted you.
Her smile brightens as a dopey smile spreads across your face. “I love it so much, Baran— I love you so much.” You sigh, as she lightly tugs on the necklace. You can’t help but let out a happy hum and grin at her action. “Can’t wait until we tell my sister tonight, so I can finally kiss you at work.” You admit, eyes never leaving hers as her lips wrap around your nipple, a low chuckle escaping her.
You hadn’t really had sex in over a week: first, it was due to Baran feeling guilty over hurting you— giving you time to heal. Then you’d been sore for days after that brutal Pilates session with her. Finally, Baran had a couple of rough shifts the last few days, coming home late and completely spent. Sure, you’d made each other cum, but it was more out of necessity and want than slow, loving enjoyment.
But today was different: Baran had gotten home late last night. She was excited for a weekend off with you, happy to finally catch up on missed time.
She pulls back, arms bracing herself over you, crawling up your body as she peppers kisses along the way. Her lips find yours in a heated kiss. After mere seconds, you press your hand to her chest, pushing her back so her body hovers over yours. “Baranam, what am I feeling between my thighs?” You ask, an incredulous look twisting your face.
She smirks at you, kissing your cheek. “Well, I wanted to use one of the toys I bought two weeks ago. And I thought now is as good a time as any.” She purrs into your neck, still hovering over you.
You lift the duvet and take a look at the aforementioned toy. Expecting the six-inch burgundy red strap-on you’d tried when the package first arrived, you’re pleasantly surprised to see a different toy: hanging from her harness is an eight-inch clear dildo with a purple fade to the base.
You’d affectionately shaken your head when she showed it to you— her favorite color, who would have thought. Baran had been adamant about replacing the one dildo you had— it was too realistic. She did not have a penis, nor did she want one. So she had opted for toys that least resembled the real thing, both in color and shape, but still got the job done.
You smirk up at her, kissing the underside of her jaw. “You’ve been desperately wanting to try this one, huh, Honey?” You whine, as her hips jut, making the tip of the strap press against your panties. “Well, we’re both more or less ovulating, and I’ve missed taking my time and simply enjoying you. So I thought I could put all that pent-up lust and stamina to good use.” She mumbles, guiding the tip through your folds, over your underwear.
You whine, rocking your hips so that the strap and your panties slip into your wet heat. Baran groans at the delicious counter-pressure, the base of the strap digging harshly against her as the fabric of your underwear refuses to give way. “Mommy, please don’t tease.” You're already worked up by her teasing grin alone.
Baran pulls away, sitting on her knees between your legs. With the space now available, you’re quick to lift your hips and try to rip off your panties. Baran lets out a nasal ‘unh-unh’ as she shakes her head, slapping your hands away from the elastic band. Instead, she grips the waistband and drags it down your thighs, until her body blocks the path. She has you pull your knees up, pulling the sad cotton free from your lower legs.
This position gives her an unobstructed view of your glistening pussy. “You want Mommy’s strap, Sweet Thing?” She coos, her index finger teasing through your folds, flicking your clit. You shiver at the light touch, and can’t help but gasp as she takes the wet patch of your underwear to her nose and inhales deeply. “Delish, Baby.” She moans, licking your slick off the fabric before tossing it behind her.
You stretch your legs out around her again, using your feet to pull her in closer, ankles crossed behind her back. “Baran, please make love to me.” You plead, starting to become frustrated at the sight of your olive-skinned goddess between your thighs. Her pupils dilate impossibly wide, the brown of her eyes swallowed by darkness, even with the bright morning light streaming in through the cracked curtains.
She leans over you again, her hands sliding from the outside of your thighs up to your hips, then to the edge of your ribcage, the sides of your breasts, and finally to your shoulders. You move your arms upwards with hers, allowing her to hold your wrists on your pillow behind your head with one hand.
“This one is bigger than the other one— quite a bit, even. Talk to me, alright? I’d rather we talk too much and kill the vibe than have a repeat of last week, Nanaz.” She speaks in a honey-soft voice, the sexy, seductive tone from before now replaced by tender concern. You nod your head. “Yes, Ma’am.” You agree sincerely. “Now please, Love.” You whimper as you feel a wave of need slip out of your slick core.
Baran kisses your face tenderly, her free hand guiding her strap to where you need her most. The toy easily slips through your folds, and she braces the tip at your entrance. “Let’s see if I need to grab the lube.” She mumbles, her eyes flitting up and down between yours and where her toy presses into you.
You gasp roughly, as she slides the tip into you— the girth is much bigger than Baran’s usual two fingers. Her movements falter, and she looks down at you in concern. You squeeze your eyes shut, breathing through the intrusion. “Too much, Joon?” She whispers, her thumb rubbing your hip. You shake your head no, letting out a deep breath as you ask her to continue.
Slowly, she sinks further into you, your walls practically sucking her in. She revels in the way the clear dildo gives her a near unobstructed look into your vagina, the way your body eagerly takes her inch by inch— your tight heat clenching around her like you were made for her, and she nearly loses her rhythm imagining filling you properly. She moans as she nears bottoming out. You groan at the sheer size of her strap inside you, and she caresses your jaw, making you open your eyes to look at her.
“Is this good enough for now?” She whispers against your cheek, both of you breathing heavily. “No, all the way, slowly. Please. I’ll tell you to stop.” You mumble, enjoying the feeling of her making you feel so full. Tentatively, she agrees and lowers her hips until they’re flush against your body.
You hum out moans, locking your legs behind her to keep her in place, even pushing her a little deeper. “Fuck, Baran. Just give me—” You breathe through your nose, trying to settle. “If you move now, I think I’ll cum before you can pull out.” You admit, looking into her eyes.
“So? I have a couple of orgasms to make up for. And we have all morning and afternoon.” She says, a dark smile curling her lips as her fingers tweak your nipple. She feels your legs loosen around her, and taking this as a sign, she pulls out slowly, her eyes locked securely on your face for any sign of discomfort. Then she thrusts back in. The tip of the dildo is rubbing pleasurably over your G-spot, making you see stars.
Baran sees your eyes rolling back, so rather than bottoming out again, she pulls out far enough and makes small, precise thrusts, stimulating your sweet spot over and over. Your walls flutter around her toy within seconds.
You let out a breathless whine, as you cum, and Baran uses the excess moisture to slip even deeper into you. She stills her movements to let you come down from your high. You can’t help but drool as her biceps and triceps flex, holding herself steady above you.
You giggle at her. “That’s the quickest I’ve ever cum from penetrative sex.” You admit bashfully, blushing at the honest words you had not intended to share. She bites your neck softly. “That was endearingly quick, yeah.” She giggles back, no judgment, only pride behind her words.
She drops her full weight onto your body, sighing out comfortably as she lets go of your wrists. “Let me know when we can get back to it. Holding myself up was straining my arms— can’t have that if I intend to go at least a few more rounds.” She mutters into your ear, comfortable on your body with her strap still fully in you.
—
Baran is plowing into your soaked cunt, your legs draped over her shoulders, her hands gripping the muscles in your thighs, allowing her toy to brush your cervix with each deeper thrust. Minutes after starting this position, you pull the same move you did two weeks ago: you pull her hand to rest on your abdomen.
Now, with the length and size of the strap, she’s able to feel the tip of it bump against her palm. Your abdominal muscles twitch at the double-sided pressure. You babble out whatever your mind is capable of formulating— not much makes sense, you’re so blissed out.
“Fuck, Baby. Let Mommy make you feel nice and full. Make you nice and dumb with my strap.” Baran moans, drunk on you and the strap’s pressure on her clit. With a deep thrust, the tip of the clear toy kisses your cervix, and a masochistic whimper forces its way out of your body.
“Baran, please.” You howl, eyes rolling back as Baran lifts your hips into hers. “Fuck Aziz, let me fill you up. Make you pretty and round while carrying my baby. Fuck you so deep that it’ll be impossible for you not to get pregnant.” She groans darkly, slamming her hips into yours, leaving you at a loss for words.
“Fuck, to knock you up with my child. And— and then to watch you grow with them in your pretty belly. Fuck, My Love.” She groans, doubling her efforts. ”I need to breed you, Sweet Thing. Cum inside you all day for a week straight, till it takes.” She babbles on, drunk on your moans and the bravado of the toy hanging from her harness.
Her eyes zero in on you, blissed out on her strap and filthy words. “Fuck, Mommy. Put a baby in me. Please, Joonam.” You beg, your hips rutting into hers, feeding off her words.
Your eyes refocus on hers, momentarily pulled out of the sexual daze. You mumble a soft “Really?” as you lean up. Baran presses your thighs into your torso, angling your hips with her weight on the back of your thighs, allowing her to lean in.
Her lips find yours in a deeply tender kiss, despite the ferocity of her hips slamming into yours. “Really.” She smiles tenderly at you. “I love you. I am the luckiest woman on earth— even more so if you carry my baby.” She whispers, making you see white as an all-consuming orgasm rips through both of you.
Her hands are all over you: caressing your jaw, tracing your neck, gripping your shoulders, squeezing your breasts, grasping your love handles, and rubbing your stomach. As her thrusts grow more shallow, and your clit twitches while coming down from the intense orgasm.
“Fuck, Deldaram. You’re so perfect, so smart, beautiful, kind, sexy, and so sweet to Arya. It makes me— fuck. It really makes me want to put a baby in you. Mmmmh, God. Just your pussy being full of my cum, my baby, and my love… ahhh.” She groans, slowly stilling in you, taking her time with every stroke to leave you feeling as fulfilled as she can.
You sigh as she settles her weight on you. “This is called the mating press for a reason, My Love.” You give her a surprised look. “What? I’ve had a lot of alone time, so I read a Kama Sutra variant.” She says offhandedly, making you giggle as you lean up to kiss her tenderly.
—
After Baran finally pulled away from you, she suggested having breakfast, or at least taking a food break. You had told her she was lucky you had plans this evening; otherwise, you’d be fucking all weekend long. Baran couldn’t help the lovesick smile that spread across her face.
So there you are in the kitchen around noon. Baran is still wearing her harness— though she’s put a shirt on. As for you, you’re only wearing ‘clean’ panties. The truth is, you hadn’t cleaned anything: cum was soaking through your sheets, and both your and her slick still coated your bodies.
At the stove, you’re making eggs, while Baran makes tea at the far end of the counter. “What kind of eggs are you making, Mama?” Baran asks, grabbing tea bags. You can’t help but feel warm at the pet name.
“Well, I was making sunny side down, but I think I’d rather want my eggs fertilized.” You can’t help but joke, flipping the eggs and turning off the stove. Baran freezes— she knows that you spoke about this mere minutes ago— yet it surprises her to hear you mention it outside of the passion you shared in the bedroom.
You saunter over to her, grabbing her chin to make her look at you. She blinks at you, dumbly, a distant smile on her face. “That was a joke. But also the truth, Eshgham. Maybe not tomorrow or next week. But with you by my side and you as their mother, I’m more than eager.” You wink at her, as she regains her footing.
She lurches towards you, desperate to connect with your lips. Her hands grip your hips, switching positions so that your back is pressed to the counter. Then she turns you around, pushing you forward until your face is pressed against the kitchen island.
She bites to wet kisses into your sacral area, before softly slapping your right butt cheek. “Sorry, can’t help myself, Janeh Delam. Just so squishy and pretty.” She murmurs an apology, which you dismiss. Her finger slips into the crotch of your panties, pulling them aside. Now, your mess from earlier is reheated with new arousal.
Your girlfriend blows a teasing stream of hot air at your core. “Such a pretty cunt. All mine to fill and use.” Baran hums, kissing up your spine as she slips her strap back into you.
With both her hands groping your breasts and her teeth sunk into your back just under your shoulder blade, she starts rutting into you. Her movements are inconsistent and sloppy, your earlier three orgasms having already taken a lot out of her.
Her right hand finds its way to your clit as she chases her own second orgasm while giving you your fourth. Her fingers expertly circle the nub as she grinds hers down on the base-cover of the strap. Then her hand moves from your boob to your hair, gently tugging at the roots.
As she gets you off, she keeps thrusting, nearing her own climax. You intertwine your hand with hers on your clit, knowing you’ll be overstimulated if she keeps playing with it. So instead, you rest your hands against your abdomen and let out a happy hum. This drives Baran over the edge.
She rides out her orgasm by slowly pumping into you, as if she’s actually cumming in you. “Take it, Baby. Take all Mommy’s cum. Good Girl, letting Mommy breed you like a needy strap-sleeve.” She purrs into your back.
—
Now nearly an hour later, eggs eaten, tea drunk, refilled waters on the bedside table, and fully replenished— Baran is on her back, sprawled out on the bed, as you ride her. Or rather, not so much riding as just grinding your hips on her strap trying to force sinful moans out of the Persian.
Unsatisfied with the lack of orgasms for your girlfriend who made you feel like you were floating in so many ways— you take matters into your own hands. You’re giddy at the thought of bringing your love to an explosive orgasm while she’s the one wearing the harness.
By the whimpers coming from her throat, you know she’s not far from orgasming anymore. You lean forward, resting your hand on her sternum, changing the angle of the strap for both of you. Baran’s eyes roll back momentarily, before her hand presses against the curve of your back. She thrusts up harder, still wanting to drive you insane on her strap.
You tut, “B, I’ve had my fill— literally. Let me take care of you, Love.” You negotiate, with a rough bucking of your hips, and a nearly painful whine escapes her lips.
“Eyes on me. Let me see those pretty eyes dilate when you come, Babe.” You groan, struggling to keep her hips still. "You’re doing so well, just a pathetic mess for me. Huh, Mommy?” You tease, making Baran glare at you as she lets out a particularly loud moan.
Baran just stares up at you, her hands on your hips, her eyes on your jiggling tits and face. You gasp, as you feel another wave of pleasure build up. You throw your head back, arching on her strap as your boobs press forward, bouncing joyfully with your movements.
As your heat works its way over you, you refocus on your partner, now even more determined to make her feel as good as you do. With dark eyes, you look back at her, now sliding your hand to the base of her neck.
Her hand grabs yours and pulls it higher on her neck. Her thumb, middle, and ring fingers press on your hand, applying a little pressure to her throat. You grin wickedly at her submission. “Open your mouth for me, Mommy.” You command,— emphasizing her sexual title, at the dynamic shift— leaving little room for discussion.
With a worn-out smile, rosy cheeks, and a submissive demeanor, she does as she’s told. You thrust two fingers in her mouth, and the woman happily sucks on them. After pulling them out, you spit in her mouth, telling her to swallow. “Good Girl, Mommy.” You praise, tightening your hand on her neck once more. This makes her see heaven, a loud guttural moan rising from her chest.
Baran laughs wholeheartedly as she settles from her mind-blowing orgasm, sitting up to kiss you. The kiss is soft and slow. “I’ve never subbed like that— if that’s what I should call it.” She admits, arms wrapping around your waist.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. Was that too far? It’s just that when I had my hand on your neck, it felt natural to do. And I’ve always wanted to spit in someone’s mouth— feel all dominant and possessive.” You apologize, confessing your own thoughts. Baran kisses your clavicle, biting the bone lovingly.
“No, I liked it. I prefer being in charge though, so maybe not as a regular thing. And the spitting was hot. I want to try that.” She confesses, and you smile down at her, rolling your hips into hers— not intending to start anew, just to make her whimper in overstimulation.
“Asheghetam, Baranam.” You murmur against her lips, close to overstimulation yourself, but just so comfortable on her strap. “I love you too, Princess. I really want to make you a mama.” She whispers, angling her hips to slowly fuck you again. Your hands, holding her waist, feel her abdominal muscles tense, her six-pack hidden under a soft, thin layer of mom skin. You nearly start babbling and drooling as she tells you soft words of praise and filthy words of intent— both absolutely cum-and love-drunk.
“Pea, I’m just here to—“ A sharp, choked gasp. “Oh my God!! Ew!” The blissful haze of your post-mid-coital intimacy shatters as Cassie’s voice cuts through the air like a scalpel. “Cassie! Get the fuck out of here! What the hell!” You snap, not turning to face her in the doorway of your bedroom. Instead, your body instinctively curls around Baran’s to shield her from the intrusion, holding her close so your sister can’t see her bare body.
“I’ll be in the living room…” Cassie mutters, one hand clamped over her eyes as she stumbles backward, her free hand reaching blindly for the wall of the hallway. “Good, give us— me— a moment to clean up and get dressed.” You call after her, already bracing for the inevitable fallout.
— Meanwhile, Cassie McKay —
Cassie had texted you around 10 AM. She’d wanted her shirt back, the one you’d borrowed a while ago, to wear to dinner tonight. She texted again at 11.30 AM or so. By 1 PM, her patience had frayed, and she decided to just head to your place to pick it up, not bothering to check whether you were home first.
She lets herself into your apartment, the familiar creak of the front door announcing her arrival. Mop winds around her ankles with an unusual happy chirp as she toes off her shoes and hangs her bag on the hook. Beside your bag, she sees a familiar leather purse— expensive, structured, the kind wealthier women carry. A frown flickers across her face, but she shrugs it off, assuming it belonged to your girlfriend or someone else.
She walks down the hall, the hardwood cool under her socks, the scent of jasmine tea lingering in the air. She hears hushed sounds from your room: murmurs, a laugh, the rhythmic thumping of your headboard— she concludes a minute later. But she can’t make out what is being said or done. The door is wide open, sunlight spilling across the floor in golden streaks, and she assumes, foolishly, that she’s fine to enter.
Oh, what a mistake that was.
“Pea, I’m just here to—”
Her brain short-circuits.
She sees you on your bed: The blanket is a bunched-up mess around your rocking hips, your skin flushed, coated in a light sheen of sweat. Your back is arched just enough to direct attention to an angry, red bite mark on your shoulder blade. There are arms wrapped around your middle. Your hair is wildly matted, stuck to your head with sweat.
She lets out a shuddering gasp.
“Oh my God!! Ew!”
Her voice cracks, high and horrified, as if she’s the one who’s been caught doing something wrong. She screeches, averting her eyes as the image sears itself behind her eyelids, stealing the last bit of her innocence.
Eyes downcast, she pretty much sprints to the living room— as far away from the scene as she can get without actually leaving the apartment. She hears you say something about getting dressed, but she’s too freaked out to actually hear what you’re saying. Her hands tremble as she collapses onto your couch, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks.
—
Dropping the dildo and harness to soak in the sink, Baran will scrub them clean after the shower. You Intend to deeply clean them after the coming days— it’ll definitely be used again before the weekend is over. You step into the shower. The hot water cascades over your slick skin as steam fills the air.
In the shower, Baran can’t help herself as she steps up behind you, her deft fingers massaging shampoo into your hair. The scent of lavender shampoo taking over in the small hot space. “We’ll talk more about making you a Mama, when your sister isn’t waiting on us.” She presses soft kisses from your shoulder up to your neck.
“Asheghetam, so much. And your willingness— both the sexual part and the physical prospect— makes you so special to me. I’ll cherish you for the rest of my life, you and all our children, Aziz.”
You laugh. “I love you too, B, even though we both kind of left this kink off the radar when we spoke about our interests.”
“I just want to make you so happy, Love. And if that means popping out five little ones over the next five years, I’ll gladly try to give that to you, Maman. And I’m happy to let you keep trying to do it with your strap in between.” You giggle, turning around to kiss her.
Baran drops to her knees, slowly, not wanting to hurt herself or her knees— those things were designed so poorly, why hurt from age 20 onwards?!? She brushes your stomach softly, then leans in to smatter kisses across your muffin top, where your future children will grow. “I’m so excited,” she says, whispering your name softly. “It’ll be a long process, but I’m glad you also want to do this, with me.”
She sinks her teeth into the soft skin, biting a light mark that fades as she kisses it lovingly, the warm water dripping down your back. “Just beautiful.” She looks up at you, eyes sparkling with a before unseen love and desire.
“Come here.” You hum, wanting her lips back on yours, before wrapping her in a warm, swaying embrace. “I can’t wait to be a mom with you, and Arya.” You sigh contentedly at the thought. “A family of my own.” You whisper.
“We’re already a family, Golam. Apparently, Arya can’t stop raving about you. He’s told my parents and his other grandparents so much about you. His dad doesn’t know what to do, because you’re mine and you’ve hardly talked to each other.” She squeezes your hips. “Ari chose you, Máma. Chose you from the moment he met you. Chose you to be his.”She whispers into the steam, having to hold herself back from kissing you senseless against the cool tiled wall.
She takes a step back, breaking the moment. “Okay. More on this later,” she gently pats your tummy. “When we don’t have your sister waiting on us. I’ve read a bunch of interesting articles about trial procedures we could look into— I’d rather not use a donor.” She admits, her hands scrubbing the soap off your body in the steamy air.
—
You step out of the bathroom, the scent of your Baran’s expensive Aesop Citrus Melange body wash— citrus and jasmine— clinging to your skin. Freshly showered, teeth brushed, and dressed.
Baran was taking her time. You’d told her you’d talk to Cassie first— hoping to calm her down before she overreacted. She had warned you to extend some grace to your sister— after all, Cassie had walked in on you and had been surprised by who your significant other was.
You pass through the kitchen, grabbing the pot of tea you’d brewed earlier and an extra mug for Cassie. Nervously, you walk into the living room. Cassie’s back is turned to the hallway, and she’s pointedly staring out the window.
“Hi, Cassiopeia. Sorry about that, I guess.” You put your tray of tea down, pouring both of you a fresh cup, the smooth, warm porcelain grounding in your hands. “I should have called, not just texted, and maybe called out before standing in your doorway.” She offers timidly.
A culpable smile tugs at your lips. “It was doomed to happen, we survived this long without walking in on each other. And we both love showing up unannounced.” You smile, your discomfort ebbing away at your sister’s excusing words.
“So, can I cancel dinner tonight? You’ve already seen B— we could just order pizza.” You beam, not particularly feeling like getting dressed up— your core still thrumming from the morning’s intense lovemaking. “What? No, I haven’t. The second I saw your bare back— like that— in bed, I closed my eyes. I’m not a pervert.” Cassie exclaims, disbelieving, at your assumption.
Oh, she didn’t actually see Baran in bed with you. “Oh.” You exhale heavily.
Baran emerges from the hallway, the silence cluing her in that everything is alright. She’d put her time to good use— she’s dressed to impress: not in comfy, casual clothes like you.
Your eyes light up as they find hers, and this makes Cassie turn around to look at your girlfriend. “WAIT— YOU’RE FUCKING MY BOSS?! AND YOU’VE BEEN SCREWING MY LITTLE SISTER?!” Cassie roars as her mind makes the connection.
She does not mention that, for a brief moment, she had wanted to ask when you and Baran became such good friends— hanging out.
You rush over to Baran, taking her hand and pulling her to the couch. You sit her in the corner furthest from Cassie, protectively placing yourself in between them. Cassie’s sharp eyes focus on your intertwined hands.
“You groomed my baby sister!” Cassie accuses, index finger firmly pointed at Baran. That pisses you off. “You fucking take that back! Baran did no such thing. I’m too old and secure in my life to be groomed, and just… no. Apologize to my girlfriend.” Your voice is steel as you state it, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Baran’s hand to settle you both.
Cassie’s mind races, clearly processing. Minutes tick by. “What the actual fuck, you two. I thought about it, you know: When you brought those cookies a few weeks ago and you got all weird with Santos in the staff room. When I met Arya, he looked eerily similar to you, in hindsight, I know why. The letters of your name embossed on your goddamn platinum— really?— credit card. The fucking muffins on Sunday— I knew something was off. And your bag by the front door, though I stupidly thought it was such a coincidence….” Cassie sighs at herself, most of her anger fading as she lays out the obvious signs.
“It’s not that we meant to hide this from you, Cassandra.” Baran confesses, a professional tone bubbling up. “We just wanted to see if we worked, genuinely. Then we got caught up in scheduling conflicts.” She goes on, and you relax into her body as you watch Cassie’s temper deflate.
“But what about you and Santos? All of last week you’ve been whispering and blushing back and forth. Please don’t tell me you’re in a throuple.” Cassie questions, avoiding your gaze— and especially Baran’s— fearing the answer.
“Trin stayed over last week. Let’s just say she overheard something, concluded things, and started playing with fire. And I know too much to let her misbehave around my girl.” A smirk tugs at your lips as Cassie’s eyes find yours over her cup of tea, and you all laugh at the implication. “And I am more than content with my hamsar and stepson.” You go on, leaning over to press a kiss to the end of Baran’s jaw.
“I apologize for my accusations, Baran. I can see that you two make each other very happy.” Cassie begrudgingly admits. Baran can’t help the wide smile and blush that spread across her features at your and your sister’s words. Cassie softens at the genuine display of affection.
“Okay, so now that you know and have stopped being a wet blanket. I’m starving— anyone in for snacks?” You ask, making your way to the kitchen. Not before pressing a quick kiss to Baran’s lips and squeezing Cassie’s shoulder, trusting the women your sister to behave like adults.
—
While you’re rummaging around in the kitchen, the cutting board thumping on the counter and bowls clanging as they’re grabbed from the cupboard, Cassie turns to Baran, her inquisitive eyes locked onto her. “So is there any particular reason you’ve been mauling my sister’s skin for the past month?“ The redhead accuses, her tone casual as she tries to keep the mood light.
Baran scoffs, blushing as she’s put on the spot, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “She pulls something out of me. And just last week, that Julian guy— you know the one who stood her up, leading her to me?” Cassie hums in understanding. “Well, he didn’t take any of the fading marks on her clavicle as a sign that she might be taken. He assumed I was her overbearing friend at first.” Baran rolls her eyes at the memory.
Cassie barks out a laugh. “Fuck, really?” “And I don’t know if you’re aware, but your sister loves me marking my territory.” Baran sighs with a small frown, doing air quotes at the possessive pronoun.
Her voice thickens with emotion. “She even let me hurt her, just so her skin would have more imprints of me.” She looks up, tears forming in her eyes. “She’s a fucking idiot. She suffered because she wasn’t forward about her experiencing genuine pain and wanted to feel me while I wasn’t there. I won’t ever forgive myself for that.” Baran squeezes her eyes shut, wiping away the tears threatening to fall.
Cassie moves over to console her sister-in-law(?), softly rubbing her back. Her hand is warm on Baran’s back. “Yeah, she can go about things in the dumbest ways. But that’s part of her charm.” Cassie admits with a fond smile, a truth they both acknowledge. “So I bought her that necklace last week— to always be with her. Or at least until I get your okay on giving her a ring.” Baran shares, her honest words tumbling out unchecked. “Eventually!” Baran adds, seeing Cassie’s eyes widen at the thought of being asked for her blessing already.
“Jesus, okay. You scared me there.” Cassie laughs nervously, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I do intend to, Cassandra. I truly love your sister. Seeing her smile just makes my day.” The attending physician confesses softly, her voice warm. Then Cassie asks about the pain Baran says she caused you. Baran awkwardly goes into vague details of the spanking incident two weeks ago.
——
Returning with carrots, bell peppers, and celery to dip in hummus, a bowl of lentil chips— Baran insisted they taste as good and are healthier, though you beg to differ—, and a bowl of classic potato chips, you’re surprised to find the women sitting side by side.
You move to sit in Baran’s lap, facing Cassie, giving Baran a small bowl with cut-up apricot. Its sweet scent fills the air. “It’s the last one, Babe. It was starting to look sad.” You playfully pout as she can’t help but peck the pout from your face.
Cassie looks at the empty shelves on the wall and the missing picture and poster frames. The space uncharacteristically bare for your doing. “Why does it look like an elf robbed you of all your knickknacks, trinkets, and pictures?” Baran stammers. “I asked her to move in with me— her lease is up…”
Cassie frowns at the words. “Isn’t that a bit quick?” You grin mischievously. “Well, with the way Baran was rearranging my insides until—” “Eshgh! Shut up.” Baran hisses, bright red, avoiding Cassie’s gaze. “Jesus, Pea. That’s my boss, please.” Cassie whines, not wanting to know all this.
“So? She’s my girlfriend.” You retort. “What your sister meant was: I suggested that she move in. It’s easier with Arya and just more practical than all of us moving between two places every week or so.” Baran, ever the peacemaker, interjects. “Sure, Babe. Give her the PR answer.” You say monotonously, looking blankly at Baran. ”Cass, it’s a sapphic stereotype for a reason.” You grin haughtily as you point this out to your sister.
Baran forks a piece of apricot into her mouth, you can’t help but naughtily lean in for an open-mouthed kiss to get a taste of the ripe nectar. Baran, forgetting your guest, happily gives in. Cassie clears her throat, making the Irani-Iraqi sheepishly pull back. “What? I just wanted a taste of the apricot.” You deadpan, before laughing and teasing your sister as your girlfriend blushes once more.
——————
Part 11 of My Little Sister?! Series <- Part 10 — Part 12 ->
Author’s note
This was kind of what started this fic, just the Cassie walking in and freaking out part. And on account of all the Baran breeding-tendencies this one goes out to my fiancee @hiddenpowerpioneersam, I wrote this last week, told ya. You were scarily spot on :)
I’ve got a funny bit planned for when the Pittcrew finds out, but I need a bad guy… He’ll just be there for homophobic comedic relief; do we want Robby, Langdon, or Ogilvie to be the chosen one? I’m leaning towards Langdon as he is well intentioned but just dumb about going about it.
Like, reblog, comment, interact, all that good shit 💕
I can't find part 11 of My Little Sister. Did it get deleted ?
No, I was a little over active on tumblr this morning. It’s queued for 10h from now!! I just though to make all the links work so I don’t have to do that first thing tomorrow :))) sorry for the confusion🩷🩷
Part 10 of My Little Sister?! Series <- Part 9 — Part 11 ->
TW: SoftDom!Baran. Interaction with MEN. PTSD attack. Mentions terrorist attack. Suggestive. ‘Loyalty test’. Dana and Trinity are headed to the roof, they can't any more :)
Wordcount: 5.1K
——————
It’s Friday morning, later than usual, but still too early for it being Baran’s day off. Yet, an alarm rings at 8.30 AM. Your girlfriend, ever considerate, had left her phone on your bedside table after finally giving up on sleep two hours ago. So despite being awake, she has a steaming cup of tea on her bedside table. Her Kindle in hand, the other hand idly brushing your hair between sips of tea, and half of your body sprawled across her stomach. Still, it’s up to you to silence the damned phone.
You groan into her stomach, nuzzling deeper into the soft skin. “Eshgham, you have to turn it off to make it stop. You can sleep five more minutes after you do. We don’t have to leave for another twenty minutes or so.” She ameliorates your glum outlook. Her fingers brushing your hair back with a tenderness that almost lulls you back to sleep.
You grumble, rolling off her to the wretched phone. The movement makes you hiss— Tuesday night’s bruises on your ass flare in protest as you shift your weight on them. “Remind me again how much you like spanking? Cause if I have to do this again, we definitely need to aim lower. Jesus, fuck.” You wince, rolling back and rubbing your sore bum, the bruise having spread wider. Thanks gravity, now there’s more painful surface area! The bruise pretty much mocking you.
Settling back against Baran, you rest your head on her stomach, looking up at her. Your arms slide under her waist, gripping the woman like a pillow. “Baby, we don’t have to do it again. There are plenty of things I could do that will have you quivering for a release.” Her thumb traces the furrow of your brow, tapping it till the tension in the muscles melts away.
“You should really have that rolled-up sweater under your hips, Love. Elevating will help speed up the healing process, even if it’s only slightly. Same goes for the Pilates you’re joining me for. The faster your blood pumps, the more oxygen can clear the burst vesicles and clean house.” She says, nodding toward the sweater she had rolled up for your recovery, days prior.
You had agreed to join her for Pilates after she’d come home Sunday, raving on about the class. At least now you had a more valid excuse to not keep up with the movements. Baran had made it clear: you were to try until you reached discomfort, not pain— she does not want to interrupt your healing.
You roll your eyes, kissing the faint silvery stretch marks along her abdomen. Now that you’re looking at them up close, you realize hers are barely visible— delicate even, like distant memories of her skin. Nothing compared to your sister’s, which were bolder and more substantial. You have never really examined her stretch marks as closely as today.
“Arya was a small bean. And I religiously rubbed olive oil on the marks every few days. It may not be scientifically proven to be significantly effective, but it worked in my case.” She answers your unspoken question, catching your gaze from the corner of her eye. You give her an understanding look, plopping your head back down on her stomach with a tired sigh.
Later Baran sets her Kindle to the side, gently brushing your hair again. “We have to go, Pretty One. We’ll grab a granola bar to combat hypoglycaemia— don’t want you fainting on me in the studio. Then after I’ll treat you to a coffee and a pastry at the farmer’s market?”
——
The walk from the studio on top of the class leaves you absolutely drained— and not in the fun, post-one-on-one-time-with-your-girlfriend way. Baran tugs you along with her, her grip firm but gentle, two blocks over to a weekly market.
Every muscle screaming in protest, your arms burning, your face flushed with exertion, your head pounding from dehydration, caffeine withdrawal, or low blood sugar. You struggle wanting to give up and just to crawl into a ball and die in pain, right now. You had severely underestimated the level of the classes Baran took, or Pilates in general.
Her hand warm in yours, she stops at a coffee truck, ordering a cappuccino for herself and a cold brew with horchata for you— “Because you’re a sucker for a specialty drink.” She turns back to you as she taps her card, already knowing the question forming on your lips.
Coffee in one hand, hers in the other, you head to a confectionery stand. You pick out a raspberry croissant and a cinnamon roll to share now, picking a few more for later. You sit on a bench just off the market, the morning sun casting patched shadows through the canopy of a tree. Sipping your coffee, sharing bites, people-watching, and idly kissing between exchanges.
You suggest picking up a bouquet for Cassie next week, after Baran mentions wanting to get you flowers for your apartment. “The flowers would be a nice touch to the apartment,” she muses, “since we’ll be there all week.” Arya is on a family trip with his father to Los Angeles until next week Sunday, having left a few days ago. So staying at your place was easier— giving you a chance to start sorting through all your stuff.
“Those two definitely both want to open their relationship but should probably break up.” You point out a pair that walks stiffly side-by-side. Baran laughs as she spots them. “I fear you may be right with this couple, Golam.” She whispers, her breath damp against your ear as she disagrees with your earlier assumptions.
“Oh, what about them, then? If I was so off before.” You ask, pointing at an older couple, wanting her to share her thoughts. “Oh, he’s definitely gay, but they stayed together for the kids.” She theorizes, her hazel eyes soften as she glances at you. “It’s pretty cool that we get to do the opposite, huh?” You lean into her, your tongue eagerly finding its second home as Baran’s fingers glide through your hair.
—
You walk up and down the rows of stalls, the air thick with the scent of fresh food and distant chatter. You occasionally point out things you think are cute, feeling Baran’s restraint as she fights the urge to buy them for you. You head over to a produce stand, your eyes wide with delight at the array of fresh fruit. Late July in Pennsylvania is peak season, and the colors alone are intoxicating— ruby reds, deep purples, and sunny oranges. The scent of ripe stone fruit hangs heavy in the air, sweet and tangy.
Overwhelmed by the abundance, you just stand there staring. The vibrant hues and rich aromas send a pleasant tingle through your brain. Baran’s hand warmly rubs your back, pulling your attention to her. “We could do a box of any of them, or all. I brought foldable bags.” You can’t help but shake your head with a smile as you give her a sweet kiss. “I love you and your planet consciousness.”
“Those apricots look delicious. I can make a mean apricot cobbler for you. I remember Arya saying you love ripe apricots.” You bump your hip into hers suggestively. “There’s just something about slurping the juice as you eat around the pit.” She hip-checks you back, her eyes darkening with a suggestive look.
Beet red, you turn to a worker of the stand, calling out what you’d like. “So anything local— definitely a box of each.” “So that’ll be blackberries, blueberries, raspberries, cherries— red and golden— nectarines, apricots, and cantaloupe.” “And then also an orange, a lemon, and a pomegranate. Oh, and a few extra apricots please.” You cheerfully tell the salesperson, rocking back and forth on your heels.
“That’ll be a hefty total, Miss.” The employee warns you, gathering your chosen fruit. “Well, that’s why I’m with a doctor. I pick and choose, and she offers to pay.” You proudly kiss Baran’s cheek before packing everything safely into her bags.
“Hope you’ll enjoy fruit salad for the next week!” The person calls as you and Baran both have a bag of fruit slung over your shoulders.
“So, glad you were finally able to buy me something more substantial than breakfast?” You tease, slowly ambling toward the next stand. “Well, I don’t really consider this buying you anything. This is a necessity. It’s for us at home. For me, cause you’re being cute and want to make me something. So no.” she presses a firm kiss to your temple as she tugs your hand, bringing you to a halt before walking on.
You’re casually browsing a jewellery stand, the metallic glint of the displays catching the sunlight. You’re eyeing the bracelets as Baran looks through the pendants. Something catches her eye, and with practiced subtlety, she hands it to the stand host, miming for a minute to pay and lip it into her pocket without you noticing. “See anything you’d like, Aziz?” She rests her chin on your shoulder, her voice a low purr as she peers at the selection. “No, Love. Thanks for the offer, but you’re all I want.” You flirt, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“Go get that thing you were trying to buy without me noticing. I’ll be over there, picking flowers. Okay, Baranam?” You grin at her, planting a quick kiss on her stunned face before sauntering toward the floral stand.
You stare at the flowers, the heady scent of lilies and green filling your nose as you mentally arrange colors and flowers of your bouquet. You have already decided on white lilies as a centerpiece. The mental image is vivid— until your train of thought is broken by someone calling your name.
A dark haired man approaches, his hand reaching for the small of your back— you sidestep instinctively, putting distance between you. He looks unremarkable—not much taller than you, with a build that blends into the crowd. His body odor hits you like a wave, spicy yet sour,the stench clinging to the air between you. There’s something about his moustache, the way it twitches or curls at the edges, that sets your teeth on edge.
“Hey, sorry it’s been a minute. I meant to text you the day after the date I didn’t show up for. I had a family emergency. When I finally had time to text you back, I was understandably blocked.” He says, his voice rough but words smooth, as if the words are rehearsed.
“Oh, Julian! Sorry, that day is so far from my mind. Water under the bridge. I hope your family issue were taken care of, though.” You offer, forcing a polite smile. “Yes, yes. It was something we saw coming but denied. But I’d like to get a retry on that date, if you don’t mind.” Julian suggests, once again putting distance between you.
A protective hand wraps around your waist, Baran tactically materializing between you and Julian with effortless grace. “Hi, Babe. Everything okay?” She asks in a hushed tone, her voice low, her gaze fixed on you as if he isn’t even worth a glance. “Yeah, I’m good, Love. Uh— this is— Eh, Julian. The guy who stood me up.” You tell her, struggling to recall his name even as you say it.
“Sorry, again. Totally my fault for not reaching out immediately. So, you told your friends about me?” He asks cockily, turning to Baran and extending a hand. “Hi, I am Julian. Hopefully, this pretty girl will allow me to take her on a do-over date.”
Her hand tightens around his, her grip unyielding as they shake hands. “Hi, Baran. And I can assure you, she won’t.” She responds with a saccharine smile. Julian’s confidence falters, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he sputters out a protest and questions why she answers for you.
“Yeah, no. You fucked it that night. Luckily, you standing me up led me to my girlfriend. So, we’re good on that date— she’s the only one who can take me out like that.” You wink at your woman as Julian just stands there in confusion. “But— but— she’s— and— you’re—?” He stammers, his eyes darting between you and Baran as if the answer might appear in the air between you.
“She’s incredible, and I am over this conversation. Could you please leave my girlfriend and me to our shopping? Thanks. Was an absolute joy meeting you.” Baran cuts the guy off, her tone dripping with insincerity as she goes on.
You pull her in for a kiss, giggling against her lips. “You know, you’re really easy to love.” You sigh, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “You don’t make it difficult either, Princess.” Her hazel eyes glimmer at you, fondness warming her voice.
You get back to what you were doing before the rude interruption— telling Baran which flowers you want. She suggests sunflowers and purple larkspurs, loving the contrast of the bold yellow and deep violet, the way the shapes play off each other. The florist is in awe of the pairings, and you credit them all to your brilliant girlfriend.
Flowers in your arm and Baran’s hand in yours, you swing your hands as you head back to the parking garage. The market’s lively noise fades behind you, replaced by the rhythmic crunch if gravel underfoot— until a loud clanging cuts through the chill atmosphere. You look over to see the bakery stand in chaos, multiple metal trays scattered across the pavement.
You glance at Baran— her eyes are glazed over, her grip on your hand tightening as if searching for an escape route or afraid you’ll turn out to not be real.
—
All she hears is ringing. She’s back in Kabul, in the maternity wing. Bullets ricochet off the walls, the sounds echoing like a nightmare yo can’t wake up from. A grenades explodes down the hall. The scent of blood— maybe from a patient in labor, maybe from a mother shot and bleeding out— fills her nose, thick and metallic. She wants to check, but she can’t. The smell of gunpowder takes over, only the sharp tang of cleaning alcohol cutting through. All she can do is sit and wait for help, or risk Arya growing up without his mother.
Quietly, she starts to pray, her lips moving silently, begging any god who’ll listen to protect the poor mothers and children around her. Crouched on the ground, knees pulled up to her chest, like she’d be taught. She rocks back and forth, her body trembling as she tries to pacify her fight-or-flight response. They’d trained for situations like this, but she always thought hoped it was more of an unnecessary precaution.
The ever-lurking scent of blood and gunpowder disappear, replaced the familiar warmth of the mid-summer Pittsburgh heat. Her unfocused eyes find yours. You stand in front of her, your fingers lifting her chin to look at you before cupping her cheeks with your hands, thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed. The ringing in her ear fades, replaced by the soft, soothing coos coming from your mouth.
She blinks a few times, sharply, as if trying to force the present back into focus. “Hi, there, Beautiful. Are you back with me?” You ask, your voice laced with concern. Her breathing is still quick and shallow, her body trembling with adrenaline. You take her hand, pressing it to your sternum. Carefully, you manoeuver the bouquet to one hand and place her hand on your sternum— doing the same to her, guiding her into a rhythm. Sluggishly, she copies your breathing; in for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four, and repeat.
You stand there for a couple of minutes, just breathing together, the world narrowing to the rise and fall of your chests. Until Baran breaks the cycle, pulling away. Her face is swollen from tears, her lids heavy with exhaustion, her eyes downcast— she’s clearly stuck in her head.
You step forward, closing the near nonexistent space between you. “Hey, let’s go home. We could both use a shower and a nap. No rush, though— if you want to stay out, that’s fine too.” You offer, voice gentle, not wanting to make a big deal out of what just happened. You simply show her your open palm, letting her take it when she’s ready, before leading her back to the car.
As you reach the car, Baran starts to fumble with her bag, her movements jerky, uncoordinated. You help her, easily fishing the keys out. She moves to take them, and you hold them out of her reach. “You get comfy in the passenger seat. I’ve got it.” You decide, your tone brooking no argument. Baran instinctively wants to protest, but you say her name again, the firmness in your tone indicating you aren’t fucking around.
You put your purchases in the back seat, double-checking that the flowers won’t get squished. You eye Baran as she moves around the car, just making sure she’s steady.
You slip into the driver’s seat, your hand finding Baran’s on instinct. “Can I ask what happened? I think I know, but I just want to know what I can do for you, Joonam.” You whisper into the tense silence of the car.
Baran confirms your theories, her voice quiet. There’s not much to go now that it's over. But she'd like to go home and nap— it was draining. You happily agree, telling her you feel the same about Pilates. She lets out a small, appreciative laugh at that, delighted that you’re treating this like any other thing— not a crisis, not a spectacle.
—
“Here we are, back on my couch. Three weeks later, similarly sad Pretty Persian Princess in my arms.” You mumble, your fingers tangling in her damp hair. Showered and cozied up, Baran is snuggled into you, her body warm and heavy against yours.
“Don’t be mean.” Baran’s hoarse voice responds. “I even got you something.” She continues, her grip tightening on your shirt as she tells you not to grab it right now. You whine in response, squirming impatiently. She relents, and you shoot off to her bag in the hallway.
Returning with a small linen pouch from the jewellery stand, you wait for Baran’s nod of approval to open it.
In your hands, you find a small pendant of a golden droplet on an 18-inch golden necklace. She tells you it’s real gold— plated, she admits with a touch of sadness. It’s her gift to always be with you. You look at her with questioning eyes. “Why a water drop, Babe? I mean, it’s cute, don’t get me wrong. But I think I’m missing the significance.” You whisper, your voice soft as you fasten the chain around your neck.
“It’s my name, Shirinam. Baran means ‘rain’. I saw this and I knew nothing could ever beat it.” She murmurs, opening her arms to pull you back down. You happily crawl into her hold, peppering kisses all over her face in thanks. “I love you so insanely much.” You say against her lips. She hums out an ‘Asheghetam’ as she reciprocates the kiss.
———
Baran’s Saturday off is spent comfortably fooling around in the kitchen. You had found a recipe for apricot muffins while lazily scrolling on Instagram in bed earlier— a stroke of luck, since you’d stocked up on apricots at the market on your date yesterday.
Intending to make an apricot cobbler, you’d decided homemade muffins for the Emergency Department would be a nice gesture. You would bring them in tomorrow morning, after waking up from your my-girlfriend–prioritizes-her–job-over-me nap. Not wanting to make only apricot, you split the batter— half with golden cherries, saving more apricots for Baran.
You’re mixing and weighing your ingredients as Baran sits at the kitchen island, absorbed in medical articles on her iPad. You glance at the woman as pretty as can be: hair pulled up, and your apron tied around her waist. The one that reads ‘Make it yourself, cunt’— she needed it. It was a cherished Christmas gift from Cassie and Harrison, as is yours: ‘I’ll feed you bitches’.
Effortlessly, you follow the recipe, flower in your hair, the counter a flour and egg covered battlefield. Now you wait for your first batch to finish so you can reuse the muffin tin. You aim for fifteen muffins of each, then you and Baran can split two tonight, leaving 28 for the Pitt.
You bring Baran one of the whisk attachments, licking the other clean yourself with exaggerated relish. Baran watches your tongue curl around the metal, her lips curling into a tempting smile. You flip her off as you move to clean your utensils and the counter.
You return to Baran’s side to pick up her whisk, but she holds you in place by your hips. “Just a second, Aziz. You’ve got a little batter on your face.” She tells you, her voice a low tease. “Right,” her tongue darts out tracing your lower lip, “here.” You hum as her tongue lingers. Your hand cups her boob, and she lets out a contented sigh.
Her lips engulf your bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth. You pull your lip free, eager to kiss her properly. Baran’s lips are soft against yours, her mouth tasting of tangy batter and a faint hint of the jasmine tea she’s been sipping.
You feel a warmth growing in your chest, your heart racing as her tongue brushes against yours as your mouth parts. However much you’d like to continue, your muscles scream in protest— sore from Pilates and standing in the kitchen longer than you’d anticipated.
You pull back, your hand sliding from her breast to her jaw, gently holding her still as you press a short kiss to her lips. “I’m so fucking sore, Babe. Pilates fucking sucks. I’m gonna lay down on the couch— the muffins are on a timer— but if you smell anything, do check, please. Not hoping to burn down my apartment weeks before moving out after five years of living here.” You confess. Baran silently nods, waving you off with a happy, knowing smile.
—
You’d put in the second batch of muffins. Back on the couch, you remember something Victoria had sent you a few days ago. “Baranam, could you bring me a peeled orange? Just sat down and I don’t want to make a mess here.” You call your girlfriend, who’s still reading her articles in the kitchen— the natural light is better there— to read the iPad more clearly? Baran responds with a quick, “Of course, Khoshgel.”
Ten minutes later, she walks in with a bowl, two forks protruding from it like tiny flagpoles. Your muffins are finished; she had let you know she had taken them out so you wouldn’t get up unnecessarily. She gives you the bowl as she takes a seat, her legs wrapping around you like a second skin. The bowl contains the cut-up orange you asked for, some of the berries, pitted and halved cherries—both red and golden— and slices nectarines, apricots, and cantaloupe. But to top it off, glistening like tiny gemstones, you notice perfectly clean pomegranate seeds.
You look at the Persian with wide eyes, her whiskey-colored orbs softening under your gaze. “How?” You ask incredulously, knowing the pomegranate alone would have taken you half an hour— let alone the rest. She just laughs, forking a piece of apricot and bringing it to your mouth. She slots even closer into your body as she continues feeding you bites.
“I love you, and was this perchance one of those stupid internet challenges your stupid generation makes their partners do?” She giggles, her mouth brushing your neck. “How do you know about that?” You ask, embarrassed at being caught. “But kinda? I genuinely wanted some fruit, so two birds, I guess.” You raise your hands in surrender.
“I heard Santos recounting her story with Garcia Thursday— do we like them together or whatever they are?— Anyway, Javadi had apparently convinced Santos to do it a few days before. It went as poorly as you’d expect.” She confesses, not making a big deal out of you testing her.
“Good to know you’re picking up Gen Z shit from my friends. We’re not supporters of this casual thing they have, ‘cause it’s not.” You open your mouth for another bite. “Thank you for the lovely salad, Shirin. I would’ve accepted the orange thrown at my head, especially ‘cause you knew.” You admit, covering your mouth with your hand as you chew the bite of cantaloupe.
“I’d run to the store to get you a niche pint of ice cream at 2 AM if you wanted me to. This was just fun and simple.” She kisses your neck, using the fork in her hand to twirl your water droplet pendant. “And I get a lot in return, don’t I?” She kisses the corner of your mouth.
“Kisses, cuddles, amazing sex, a wonderful partner. A happy son, a great step-mom. Delicious baked goods, a pleasant vibe in my ED. Overall, I think I got the better end of the deal, Babe.” You can’t help but giggle as you return her kiss.
——
Sunday morning, 11 AM— legally still morning— you walk to the hospital, a bag full of Saran-wrapped bowls of muffins slung over your shoulder. Having swung past your favorite coffee shop, the scent of freshly ground coffee wafting in the air, you hold a tray with four coffees.
Cutting through the ambulance bay to the patient entrance, you find Dana smoking. “Hi, Gorgeous. I thought you were cutting back.” You can’t help but call out with a mirthful smile. “Hi, Kid. What brings you by?” She chirps, butting out her cigarette with a dismissive flick, leading you in through the back entrance.
You smile at her antics. “The missus and I made seasonal fruit muffins yesterday.” You tell her, tugging on your bag for emphasis. “More like you made and I watched in delight.” Baran joins in, her voice low so only you and Dana hear. You give her a tender smile. “Hi, Pretty.” You whisper as her hand brushes over your back— minor enough to look unintentional.
Dana laughs as you set the tray on a desk. “A black coffee for Ms. Evans, a cappuccino for Ms. Al-Hashimi, a black coffee for my sister when she’s done with her patient, and a half-melted iced latte for me.” You had out the coffees, asking Dana to ensure Cassie gets hers when she’s done.
“No coffee for me, McSweetie?” Trinity pouts, emerging from South 15 with her usual flair. You give her a quick hug. “I am dependent on these two wonderful women to have a social life with most of my friends and my family. And Cass is my sister— sorry, you missed the cut, Triscuit.” You stick your tongue out at Trinity, who grumbles at a lack of fresh non-ass-flavored coffee. “But I thought I was your best friend and platonic soulmate.” Trinity jokingly whines, much to your amusement.
You offer her an alternative: “Oy, quit bitchin’ and you’ll get first picks of the muffins I made.” You connivingly open your bag to let her peer inside. Trinity's face brightens at the sight of your buttery, freshly baked goods as you lead her to the break room. “Or do you want to Pea’s black coffee?” You offer, knowing the R2 doesn’t drink black coffee. “Thought so.” You huff as she furiously shakes her head, ripping a cold RedBull Lilac from the fridge.
Behind you, Baran and Dana head to the ambulance bay for an incoming trauma. Knowing you likely won’t see them when you leave, you wave goodbye.
“Cute necklace. Did RoboDoc get it for you?” Trinity teases as you place the bowls and neatly label them with ingredient cards. You grab the pendant, nodding as you tell her that it is a symbol of Baran’s name— so she’s always with you. Trinity’s teasing falters for a second, her expression softening in awe of the wholesomeness.
—
A while later, Doctor Al-Hashimi and Nurse Evans walk out of Trauma 1. Dana finds Cassie charting near the Hub. Doctor Santos, having told Doctor McKay about your muffins, watches as the latter appreciatively munches on a golden cherry muffin.
“Oh, Dr. Al, you’ve got to try a muffin my sister made. She makes the best baked goods— when she puts in the effort.” Cassie tells her superior proudly as Dana slides over the now-tepid coffee.
Baran dismisses the offer: “Oh, thanks, but I already had half of both muffins earlier. I know there aren’t enough, so I’d rather wait for the next time she bakes something.” She sips her cappuccino as she goes to type her report on what just happened in Trauma 1. Cassie raises a confused eyebrow. Were you here that long ago?
Trinity and Dana overhear the exchange, exchanging an oh-shit look. Trinity moves her stethoscope around her neck, tugging on it behind her neck. Dana holds herself back from biting her stethoscope. Both sigh in frustration with their superior as Cassie retreats to a patient.
Baran turns to the pair, met with two mirrored blank stares— shocked at how poorly their attending physician is hiding her relationship with the R3’s younger sister. Baran looks at them in confusion, not understanding what’s aligned them like that.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Doctor, you have to know that was the most shit job anyone has ever done at trying to keep a secret. How have you made it this long?” Trinity chimes in, “Yeah, Baran. Like I know bad actors. But you were practically telling McKay that you enjoy McSis as an after-dinner snack, on the daily.” She agrees with the charge nurse’s words.
Baran blushes, not having thought her words through— and at Trinity's tentative insinuation. She chuckles softly: “Well, fuck. I see how that could be considered unsubtle, yes.” She nods, head down to go back to charting. Filing this problem to be dealt with later, preferably next week, when you will finally tell Cassie.
"I'm going to find myself a roof to jump off of, I can't stand this anymore." Trinity grumbles to Dana, Baran gives her a look telling her she can still hear her. "You know what Santos, I'll join ya." Dana hums in agreement, done with the earlier awkward display of the attending. Baran chuckles a soft, "Good luck, we will miss you!" knowing that will keep them grounded.
——————
Part 10 of My Little Sister?! Series <- Part 9 — Part 11 ->
Author’s note
My writing got out of control, so I wrote one long ass chapter, but it became too long. So now there’s two! Despite the chaos in this one, Baran is so ughhhh…
The orange is heavily inspired by Zoya, the Iranian-USonian cooking influencer :) going above and beyond cause you do that for those you love— couldn't find their video tho.
Like, reblog, comment, interact, all that good shit 💕
not me finally having a quiet moment, home alone, to sit down and write filthy smut-- like the smuttiest i have yet, and my best friend facetiming me, just for funzies 💀
i was fully in the right mindset and now its mostly gone 😭 nothing kills my wlw boner more than hearing about his mlm date with an average john smith
These have all been used and translated at some point in the story. But 10 chapters and 40+K in, it can be a lot to remember.
Disclaimer: I don’t speak Persian/Farsi, this is all based off what I’ve found on Reddit, Quora, and Persian culture sites!!! Do let me know if anything is incorrect.
-(a)m is a suffix meaning my…, -(a)t is a suffix meaning your…
Terms of endearment:
Khoshgelam, my beautiful
Delroba, heart stealer/ enchanter
Azizam, my dear (azizanam plural)
Eshgham, my love
Maman, mom
Mâl-e man, my property
Doos(t) dokhtaram, my girlfriend
Shirinam, my sweet
Baranam, my Baran
Gorbam, my cat
Golam, my flower
Hamsaram, my wife
Pesaram, my son
Asalam, my honey
Joonam, my life
Khahar, sister
Nanaz, sweet heart
Deldaram دلدارم, the one who has my heart
Janeh delam, life of my heart
Hayati, vital
Phrases:
Chi? what?
Bale, yes
Salam, hello
Asheghetam, I am in love with you
Esme man X ast, my name is X
Esme shomā chīyae? what is your name?
Ghorbunet beram, I’ll sacrifice myself for you—literally— but anything from thank you, I love you, or goodbye
Âré, yes
Befarmaeed, here you go/after you
Doostet dāram, I love you
Deltangetam دلتنگتم, my heart has tightened for you > I miss you
Fadat besham, I would sacrifice myself for you
Mîbînamet میبینمت, see ya
May show up at some point :)
Shabnam شبنم, dewdrop > Little baran
Lubia, bean
Nafasam, my breath
Zendegim, my life
Ghalbam, my heart
Zibaye man زیبای من, my beauty
Yaram یارم, my companion
Hamsafaram همسفرم, my fellow traveller
Jigarami, you are my liver > can’t live without
Tokh meh chesham, seed of my eye > apple of my eye
Nooreh chesham, light of my eyes
Hame kasam, my all
Hastie man, my world - my universe
Nazdare man, my cutie
Soori سوری, red rose
Soroor, سرور, deep blissful happiness
Eshaal, flower in heaven (as a name in muslim culture, otherwise its diarrhea in farsi 💀)
Shab bekheir شب & Shab khosh به خیر, good night
Khejalat ham khoob chizi-e ha, shame is a good thing
Pedarsag, son of a bitch
Felân فعلاً, see you later
Be omîde dîdâr به امید دیدار, hope to see you again
